


Born from the Shadows

by Rhoey



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Mystery, Original Character(s), Science Fiction, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoey/pseuds/Rhoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years following the defeat of Omega, a series of mysterious events take place all over the world, and with the mass appearance of monsters, the WRO is in a state of complete mayhem. Vincent Valentine and former AVALANCHE members are reluctantly thrown into the heat of the conflict once more, which spirals into a crisis with dire consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise Attack

The attack on the outskirts of Edge happened so suddenly, that the World Regenesis Organization soldiers were caught off guard and five of them brutally killed on the spot when a herd of out-of-control beasts had somehow wandered into this heavily populated area. They tore through the city, unstoppable, like a runaway train, all without warning.

Vincent had been in the area when a commotion and horrified screams caught his attention. It all happened so fast, but it took him no time to spot the source of the upheaval, and subsequently dive into the heart of the turmoil to chase after the demonic creatures at full speed. Dodging people, buildings and debris, as they whizzed past him like blurred shapes in the street, the caped man blasted at the monsters ahead of him, one of which in turn spun around to meet him head on. Hollow eyes locked on its new target, it released an earth-shattering roar, and the black beast charged at the man with such ferocious energy and force, that it ripped up the pavement in its wake. Shrieking people desperately ran to find cover wherever they could, and it was mostly women and small children. Vincent grit his teeth with a grunt of vexation.

"You sure know how to pick a time and place," he grumbled. He reloaded his gun with a loud click and lept up, spun around in the air, opening fire once more, as he ran with all of his might.

To his surprise, the creature stopped pursuing him. Instead it remained still in one place. Puzzled at first, Vincent quickly realized that it had become distracted by the sounds of screaming children from behind. Promptly turning its back to the man, the ogre lunged in the other direction, toward the sound. Vincent knew what was in that direction; it was where the old run-down warehouse was on the outskirts of Midgar, where the two cities met, which had served as an orphanage for the past two years...

Onto the roof tops he lept, not once ceasing fire, but his foe had its mind set on its destination and paid no heed to the man chasing it. Vincent tore through the city, leaping from building to building, never losing sight of his mark. All around him in the streets nearby, guns blazed where soldiers barraged the unrestrained monstrosities with bullets relentlessly.

Too late. Full panic broke out when his target had reached the orphanage. This one was particularly resilient, Vincent noticed, repeatedly slamming itself against the metal door to get to the people inside. Mere seconds were all it took before the battered entryway bent and ripped loose from its frame, admitting the terror inside.

Children and their adult guardians were screaming and running for their lives as it wreaked havoc and smashed the place up, hurling aside the table and chairs used to barricade the door, with its sight on the children. A whole group had huddled in one corner behind one female guardian, who stood between them and the rabid creature, her arms stretched out protectively over the children. The dim building obscured her countenance, but the woman reassured the children in a calm manner that she wouldn't let anything happen to them.

Strange. That voice...it almost sounded familiar. He could not quite identify it, but certainly, he must have heard it before, somewhere.

No time to dwell on it, however. The man blasted shot after shot at the creature, gun flashing like lightning in the dark. With a loud roar, at long last, it finally fell on one side, motionless. Once it had ceased moving, its decaying form emitted a dark, odorless smoke-like vapor. All that remained of the beast that was a puddle of some kind of dark liquid, but everything else seemed to have evaporated. The children and the adults remained in the corners, obviously mortified over what had transpired in the past minute. Save for the woman who had spoken up to sooth the children.

Upon looking up at their savior, part of the her face beneath her hooded robe came into sight from the weak daylight emanating from the busted doorway. Vincent's eyes widened and for a split second, he believed that it was a trick of the light, or that the smoke had done something to his vision.

"What? It...couldn't be! Y-you're..."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of whatever it was that had affected him. Clearly, it was some sort of illusion. He looked again. Still, the same eyes peered back at him. Still the same familiar face.

His thoughts were interrupted midway when WRO soldiers as well as paramedics arrived to the scene and stormed inside the building to help get the people inside to safety.

The man lingered a moment longer as the evacuees around him were ushered out from the premises. His eyes lingering on her face, as though trying to find answers to his questions merely by watching, and he hesitated. The hooded woman muttered a genuine "Thank you", but he said nothing in return, still waiting, as though petrified in place, unsure of what to do.

The soldiers escorted the woman out as well with the children following behind her. She locked eyes with the man as she walked past him, her gaze mystified, apparently wondering why he was staring at her. What had even transpired just now? Glancing back one last time, the man turned his cape in the wind and exited the building. Outside, the inhabitants of the orphanage got into a truck that waited for them in the street, surrounded with WRO personnel assisting them.

So many thoughts spun within his mind that he couldn't process them all. Obviously, what he saw was some sort of illusion or trick of some kind, he just couldn't tell what or why. A mirage, he reasoned. Or perhaps a look-alike? An impostor? But no. He needed another pair of eyes to confirm or deny what he had seen. In the past, there had simply been too many occasions on which he could not trust his own eyes, because they had become deceitful. What was happening? Was this another episode? If so...of what? Chaos had been out of his system for over two years, so what was this? And why now?

His meditation was interrupted by a soldier who recognized him and called out to him.

"Mr. Valentine, sir!" he exclaimed.

When Vincent snapped out of his trance, returning to the present, he finally inquired, "If you don't mind my asking...where are you taking these people? "

"To a safe house on the other side of town. It's only transitional, until we get this facility back up and running, sir.”

"I see," Vincent breathed.

Noting his pensive expression and furrowed brow, the soldier added, "Is everything all right, sir?"

"I've been asking myself the same question," he said, promptly turning his back to the perplexed young soldier and left the scene.

From the rooftop, he watched as the truck loaded to full capacity with the children and their attendants, and with a loud roar of the engine, rolled away down the street, and out of sight.

* * *

"Surprise Attack on Edge!" was plastered all over the screen of this morning's breaking news report. Tifa had to run up and downstairs far too many times all in one morning to get ready for the day, but stopped short to hear the animated newscaster hurriedly tell the story of the attack.

_"WRO crew at the scene described the situation as 'quite unusual' and that 'they had not been prepared for such an event'. Commissioner Reeve Tuesti had this to say on the matter: 'The WRO is currently working overtime investigating the security breach and I can assure the citizens of Edge that everything is being done to learn more about what occurred, and we are working non-stop to stabilize the situation, so that everything can return to normal as soon as possible-”_

"Monster attack?" Cloud asked absent-mindedly while listening intently to the story, hands clasping his half-empty cup of coffee.

It was barely seven o'clock in the morning, but already Tifa was sweating, trying to get the day started. The news displaying an unforeseen ogre attack on civilians only agitated her further.

The bar downstairs would open around lunch, and the phone was exploding with incoming delivery requests. Cloud had been sitting and planning his daily route as well as calculating the costs, with a map and a note pad before him on the kitchen table. Denzel and Marlene gathered around the breakfast table as well, chatting away. The most recent member of their family, Shelke, helped prepare breakfast by chopping up scallions and slicing bread while Tifa was getting ready for business. Both Tifa and Cloud's hands were full, while half of their attention was on the news. All morning, it was all anyone could talk about on television.

Tifa turned the dial on the stove to full heat, picked a bowl from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. Opening up an egg cart, she started cracking eggs, one by one over the bowl, and threw the shells into the trash.

Cloud's phone buzzed and rang once more. ”Strife Delivery Serv-”

On the other side, a familiar voice spoke up. "Vincent," he confirmed. "It's been a while."

"Oh, say hi to him from me," Tifa muttered, distracted, while putting a pan over the stove.

"And me too," Shelke chimed in.

Cloud did as they requested. After they'd exchanged their hellos, Cloud grew quiet, and merely hummed in agreement. "Mhm. Got it. Will do."

Hanging up, he placed his phone beside him on the table, and paused for a moment, reflecting on his friend's unusual tone. Everyone in the kitchen appeared to have grown quiet and with their attention on Cloud. But the man merely returned to his duties scribbling numbers on a note pad like nothing had happened.

"Wait, what did he tell you?" Tifa asked as she cracked the last egg, curiosity piqued over the rather mysterious unanticipated phone call.

The latter was surprised by the random and odd question, though answered between sips of his coffee, "He gave me an address. Special delivery, I guess. Why?"

Tifa whisked the eggs together and poured the bowl's contents into the pan and turned the heat up.

"It's a bit unusual,” she observed with an expression of disbelief. ”We haven't heard from him in almost a year and now he asks you to deliver for him? This is new."

She stirred the eggs in the pan as they cooked, and added some salt. Cloud downed the last of his coffee.

"It's just Vincent being Vincent," he remarked nonchalantly, "It's probably nothing out of the ordinary. I'll head out tonight to make the delivery, right now I'm in over my head."

"Right,” Tifa agreed. He told no lie; only in the past hour, he had received more than twenty phone calls, all from customers who needed his services.

”Also...let's remember that Shelke is twenty-one today, so...happy birthday!" Tifa announced cheerily and hugged the girl. Cloud and the children joined in as well.

"I'm sorry about the news, though," the tender-hearted woman added, indicating the television.

"That's okay. Thanks, Tifa,” the bashful girl said. ”Don't forget that you promised I could have my first ever drink tonight!"

"Yes, I haven't forgotten, just like yesterday, and the day before that," she replied, chuckling. Shelke's odd need for her permission to try her first alcoholic beverage amused her; after all, it was not like she couldn't have tried to get some before, but she had had her mind set on waiting until her twenty-first birthday. Tifa felt oddly proud of her for that.

Cloud's mind wandered elsewhere. While part of him wanted to think that Vincent was merely acting as he always would have, there was still something very off about the way he spoke to him. Attempting to read between the lines would have been futile; Vincent had never been one for riddles or hidden motives, he thought, and only spoke when he had something important to say. The celebratory laughter and friendly chatter in the room faded away slowly and was instead replaced with a loud and intense ringing in his ears.

As fast as it came, it suddenly ceased. “Ugh.”

“What's the matter?” Tifa asked.

She regarded him, as though trying to read the answer from his face. At this very moment, her concern merely annoyed him.

“Nothing,” he dismissed. “It's nothing.”

With that, the man excused himself and left the kitchen, occupying his mind elsewhere.

* * *

The evening came swiftly. With the amount of customers that Seventh Heaven had had all day, and with Cloud being away from home for several hours, Tifa was forced to multitask and run back and forth more than usual. She and Shelke had their hands full, slaving away to serve each customer, and they had barely managed to have a short ten-minute break over the past couple of hours. Simply put, they were swamped. Even Denzel and Marlene helped out, but mostly for the allowance. Not a single table was empty. Ever so often, Tifa wiped the perspiration off her forehead with a clean cloth and careful not to smudge her make up, but still kept a smile on her face, despite the stress. The news had still not diverted their focus from the attack story.

_"A great number of monsters have been spotted in the area last night and WRO are still investigating the attack-”_

It had been several hours since Cloud left to run errands and make the deliveries right after the phone call with Vincent. Ever since then, he had been acting in a very peculiar manner. They haven't even spoken since he left the breakfast table. Tifa felt the irritation grow within her chest. Just what had that man told Cloud to put him so ill at ease?

"Have you heard from Cloud?" Tifa finally asked Shelke, who tried him once more on the phone.

"No. I can't get through to him. It seems that his phone is shut off."

"Why would he turn off his phone? We agreed to be available, especially now, we're overwhelmed! What's going on?"

"I'm sure it's just that his battery was depleted. He'll be in touch."

The girl grew nervous and uneasy with Tifa acting so stressed and irate; it was not an everyday occurrence and she liked her guardian better when she was her usual calm self. The adult in the house, who kept a level head. She wondered where that Tifa had suddenly gone.

"You're probably right,” Tifa conceded and sighed, then pointed to the television, "But still, with everything going on, he should at least-"

"About that birthday drink..." Shelke interrupted, if only to distract her from the news. She decided, things were getting out of hand.

"I haven't forgotten! I've prepared a special cocktail for you, with your favorite fruits," Tifa announced smilingly and with a wink when she presented the drink. "Here you go! It's the 'Shelke-Happy-21st-Birthday-Cocktail'!"

It was a harmonic mix of red, yellow and orange, with a cocktail cherry on top and a blue straw.

"It's...colorful," the girl noted.

Tifa stuck a small paper umbrella in it for a more festive appearance. Shelke took a sip through the straw and allowed the cool fruity drink flow freely into her mouth and on her tongue. At first, the sweetness was to her liking, but when the sting of the liquor reached her throat, she immediately set down the glass onto the counter, eyes watering and she pressed a hand to her mouth in a panicked manner.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Tifa asked. Almost as an answer to her question, the girl sprang up and out towards the bathroom and locked herself in there. Tifa sighed. "Oh, boy..."

The small brunette returned a couple of minutes later, red-faced, coughing and gasping for air. "Don't _ever_ let me request alcohol again!"

Tifa could not help but laugh. Denzel eyed the glass, curiosity piqued. "Can I try?"

"No, you can't," the woman declared simply and poured the drink down the drain in one swift motion. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few more years”.

Denzel grumbled in disappointment, and Tifa could hear Marlene whisper ”See? I told you she wouldn't let us!”

”I heard that!” Tifa said to the two conspiring children, who ran off immediately. She sighed.

It was three in the morning when the final customer had left and Tifa closed shop at last. But there was still no sign of Cloud, and he remained unreachable. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe the culmination of stress from the day's events, but panic rose within her. Something was not right; she could feel it, in every fibre of her being. Mustering what little strength and motivation she had left for tonight, the woman compressed her jaw, and with a deep breath attempting to calm her anxious heart, she took to sweeping the floor and finishing up, expecting Cloud to turn up any minute now.

Each minute felt longer than the last.


	2. Renascence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman awakens in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of her origins. She is nursed back to health by strangers, and learns about the grievous state of the world after Meteorfall.

The snow storms up north were not to be trifled with, especially for those who wandered alone in the vastness of the winter wasteland stretching far into the horizon. Its lethal icy gusts, and the headwind of snow provided a ceaseless barrage of a thousand numbing needles, obstructing any vision of one's surroundings. Knee-deep snow hindered all movement; one could easily fall victim to wild animals on the prowl.

Such was the case on this stormy day, when an elderly gentleman, driving back to his village on his trusty snow scooter, was sidetracked when he spied an unusual number of wolves gathering in one spot. They seemed undisturbed by the loud roar of his vehicle. A peculiar heap in the snow caught his attention, which the animals appeared to be closing in on. A carcass, he thought. But being hunters, these canines normally ignored a cadaver.

Even so, the many uses that a dead animal could serve were too significant to pass up on; it meant new leather, or a new pelt, and since this hunting trip had been a lackluster one, ignoring an opportunity like this one could have been costly.

With a sudden swerve, the old man drove closer to the pack. That was when he got a clearer view of what the beasts were preparing to feast on. Much to his horror, it was a person.

At once, he leapt off of his scooter, reached for his shotgun in the side-car and fired one shot into the air. Luckily, it seemed sufficient enough to scare the carnivores off so he could look closer at the figure lying face-down in the snow. Upon scooping up the lifeless form and turning it around, he was met with the pale ghost-like face of a young woman, lips slightly parted and blue, face white and purple, long dark hair frozen into solid icicles. The visage of a specter.

The man rushed to check for any signs of life, looking for a pulse. He heaved a sigh of relief when he found one; it was weak, but it was still present. And she was still breathing. But her scarce clothing alarmed him; he could not fathom how or why on earth anybody would be dressed for summer in this climate.

" _Good Gaia_...what happened to you?" he asked the immobile figure, his voice full of pity, and immediately proceeded to load her into his side-car.

Wrapping heavy blankets and animals pelts around her icy body, he wasted no time heading homeward with full throttle through the relentless blizzard, holding out hope that she would survive the trip.

 

* * *

 

                                                    _...I'll be going now. I'll come back when it's all over..._

 

                            ...what?

 

                                                          _...And let me handle Sephiroth..._                

                                          ...who?

                                                                                                             _...She'll never be able to laugh, speak, cry...or get angry..._

  
                                                                                                      

                                _...I want to be forgiven..._                       ...who are you?...  

 

          _...I'm searching..._                                              ...searching...for what?                                                      _...I never blamed you..._                                                                              

                                                                   

                                                                                                                                  ...who am I?...

 

                           ...hello?...

                                                                              _...I'm home, mom..._                                                           ....M...Mom...?

 

                                                                                                                    ...I'm...home...?...

**_Wake up._ **

A myriad of sounds and voices echoed in her head all at once. It was a sea of noise in there: different voices talking, laughing, crying, some even screaming - all mixed with the monotonous hum of engines, the loud rumbling of vehicles, the whirring of helicopters, and the sound of music playing in the midst of the clamor. She made no sense of this chaotic composition of sounds; all reverberated within her brain discordantly, like she could hear the entire world all at once. And then it suddenly stopped.

Two eyes, which hitherto had been shut now slowly reopened to welcome daylight once more. Strong light stung them so terribly that she closed them by impulse another moment before a second attempt; she found everything too bright and incredibly blurred for her weak eyesight.

A muffled voice now emanated from outside of her own mind; it sounded like the voice of someone talking. Sadly, it was all far too muffled and her ears could not discern any coherent words. She sensed the presence of another person nearby. When her blurry sight grew somewhat sharper minutes later, she turned her head to her right, and sure enough, her senses did not fail her: only some short distance from where she found herself, she spied a figure no more than a dark silhouette in an abstract haze of different colors and lights. She strained her eyes to peer at the character. As vision slowly returned to her, she saw the figure seated in a tall armchair some distance away at the other side of the room – an old woman. All she could see was a wrinkled face and silver hair in a bun; she seemed to be very old. She did not recognize this elderly woman. Still, her eyes examined her carefully, from top to toe. She held some kind of a noisy box with an antenna and several buttons and dials on it close to her ear; this appeared to be the source of the speaker. Another long moment passed before it occurred to her that she was listening to a small radio. Despite the disturbances in the broadcast, she could hear the faint voice of some male news anchor, but the words spoken were indistinct. The woman inhaled deeply as she adjusted her position somewhat.

Leaning forward in her chair, still holding on to the radio and her pipe, the elderly lady cast a stray glance in her direction - the former froze when her eyes met a pair of green ones gazing back at her, wide-awake. She sprung out of her wooden chair, so fast that she stumbled forward, subsequently discarding what she had been holding onto there, and ventured across the room to approach the young woman, joints crackling in protest to her movement. Her face became clear as she drew closer, and she tightened the gray scarf around her neck.

"Benji!" the lady called out once, and when there was no response, she yelled even louder, "BENJI! GET UP HERE, POST-HASTE!"

The voice of an old man resounded from downstairs, "What? What is it, woman?"

When he approached the lady, he seemed somewhat annoyed. "Is the house on fire, or _what_?"

"No, you nitwit! Look!" the woman indicated their guest who lay snug beneath the covers, gazing up at the two.

"Well, I'll be--!" he cried out with enthusiasm. "So, you're awake, huh? Boy! I sure thought you were a goner! But I'm glad you pulled through, after all!"

She continued to stare at this strange figure hovering over her, who in return smiled with affable warmth and unconcealed excitement. He was an old balding man with white hair and a goatee, dressed in a dark woolen sweater. She didn't recognize him either.Why he smiled and acted so strange and treated her like some kind of a phenomenon puzzled her. Her blurred vision could make no sense of her surroundings. She tried to lift a trembling hand and reach out for the two standing next to her; the same hand felt incredibly heavy all of a sudden, as though carved out of stone. Much to her dismay, she discovered she had little control over her own limbs. She felt, however, that she rested upon a soft surface, with a thick and heavy quilt covering her entire body up to her shoulders, and warmed her tired limbs so wonderfully. But where was she? Unfortunately, her simple question remained unanswered, and she let her eyes linger on the elderly couple's faces; she studied their wrinkled features quite keenly.

The kind gentleman went on, "I have always cautioned travelers to bring a map and dress warm when they're wandering like you, but you did neither. You're lucky I was there! I had to fight off a whole pack of rabid wolves when I found you, passed out in the snow, lookin' all ghost-like," he said. Still, the young woman was unresponsive. Clearing his throat, the gentleman shook his head and took a more solemn approach to the subject, "Anyway, what matters is that you're here now, safe and alive."

_Alive? Passed out...in the snow?_

The rest of his words floated past her ears when her mind trailed off. It all sounded nonsensical. Awakening here, in some unknown place with two individuals she had no recollection of ever seeing, and then hearing this odd tale of how she had been found in the snow was surreal, like some strange dream; as though she had plunged into someone else's life and was now living it.

"Say, who are you?" she heard him inquire, "Where did you come from...and how did you end up out here?"

She drew a deep breath, and tried to form a sentence. A sudden pang of agony came as the most unpleasant surprise with the inhale; the attempt to speak racked her body. Gathering what feeble strength she possessed, she managed to squeeze out barely, with anguish, "I...can't..."

It was all she accomplished before she fell back against her pillow, feeling fragile and depleted, like it had taken her all of her strength to muster those two words. The melancholy voice in her head now began to compare her to a shipwreck tossed about by the tempestuous seas, torn apart, then cast away. She laid here, lost and bewildered, deprived of memories of her identity and origins. All she had was this unrelenting agony, and a strange elderly couple for company.

The old woman stomped her foot and hissed at her companion, "Put a lid on it, will ya'? She's lucky she didn't  _freeze to death,_ and you want her to chit-chat!?" she scolded.

" _Can it_ already, woman!" he retorted, annoyed by his wife's accusations.

With that, an argument broke out. She merely gazed at the pair, but said nothing. She was weary; so drained of all energy and strength. According to her strange friend, she'd been wandering the blizzard fields all on her own, with barely any clothing. Perhaps that was the reason she found herself in this condition, she thought to herself. Her inability to speak certainly proved her poor physical health, and indicated a possible exposure to extreme cold.

Their voices faded out when her eyes sealed of their own accord, both of which felt sore from the strong artificial light in the room. Upon closing them, an image floated to her; this peculiar image resembled the features of a young man. His two noteworthy blue eyes lingered on her as fresh tears welled up in them, coursing down his cheeks. He looked so pitiful, as though he carried nothing but regret, anger and despair within; like he might fall apart. She wanted to comfort the man; the vision was simply too painful to see. For some inexplicable reason, those blue eyes and that face seemed the only thing clear enough in her mind; so clear, that she could almost reach out and touch it. But… _why_ was it so familiar? Was this some kind of an illusion, a dream…or a memory? Once again, there were no answers. This fruitless meditation irked and frustrated her, almost to the point of nausea.

_So tired..._

Eyelids heavy as lead could no longer stay open. She did not resist, and finally succumbed to the fatigue. With another slight turn to vary her posture, slumber came to her heavy body once more, and in mere seconds' time, all thought, all sound and all emotion faded, allowing precious sleep to sweep her away.

 

* * *

 

Each day, during her wakeful hours, she was fed some kind of soup and bread. The same elderly couple had been present all that time and tended to her; the old man supporting her meek body and her head while filling a spoon with a warm soup and brought it to her mouth. Every spoonful tasted like bitter poison at first, and each bite of bread went down with much pain and difficulty. That horrid sensation clung to her for days on end persistently like a malady. Much to her relief, she regained her appetite gradually as the days passed.

Come the seventh day, she was better; on the eighth, she could move, and even sit up in bed. She felt comparatively strong and revived; desire for action stirred her, and soon enough, she grew weary of lying on her back. The old man urged her to move about, worried that she might develop bedsores.

Thus, she tore off her heavy quilt and climbed out of bed. Her movement was still somewhat agonizing, but far less restricted. She could move her limbs about freely, though not without a tingling sensation or strange numbness plaguing her stiff joints continually.

Memory also returned to her little by little; alas, she could merely recall basic things about her identity, like her name and age, but not how she ended up in this place. Nor had she many possessions aside from the clothes on her back and two thick, gleaming steel bracers decorating her wrists.

She sat up in bed and let her bare feet dangle about freely and let her toes touch the floorboards. She then supported herself on the wooden headboard of the bed while stretching her legs to stand on them. They itched and stung as sensation returned slowly, but ignoring the gracelessness when she attempted to stay poised, she managed to lift one foot, while supporting herself on the other, and took a step. Her legs felt wobbly underneath her, and she leaned herself against the bed once again for support. She still did not have full control of her movements; she was slightly disoriented and dizzy.

The woman spent her time getting acquainted with her surroundings, all within the confines of some house she didn't recognize. The interior, however, was cozy and warm. She paced around this particular room, studying every item her eyes came across, one hand always touching the wall, lest she might lose her balance.

The room had a sloping ceiling. Black and white photographs occupied the gray stone walls. The photographs were simple portraits of a man in snow gear, and of the couple who lived in this house. Antlers and tusks of various animals were mounted along the wall. In the middle of the room stood a low wooden table, and a lantern in a metallic frame on top of it, with a candle afire inside. A small window above eye-level across from the bed admitted some daylight into this dim quarter, and next to it was a fireplace, radiating heat.

As she walked around, she came across an oblong mirror close to the door on the other side of the room. She approached hesitantly. Her heart sunk when her reflection came into view; her own vastly alarming reflection.

Flabbergasted by her countenance and her form, she staggered back a step or two in spite of herself. The person staring back at her was an appalling wan, sickly figure. All of her thick, long russet locks of hair were tousled and dull, and her face wore a grisly pale hue, resembling that of a ghost. She felt her heart thump all the more rapidly when she raised a trembling hand to touch the mirror. Her fears were thus confirmed: yes, that was her own reflection. This realization stirred up unbearable frustration within; she quivered uncontrollably, pressing a palm to each temple to ward off an impending headache; nothing seemed to make any sense.

Fortunately, the sound of footsteps floating to her ears snapped her out of her brooding. She composed herself by force, and promptly turned away from the mirror when she spotted somebody emerging from downstairs. It was the same elderly woman who had taken care of her that now came to check on her. The instant she entered the room, she noticed the young woman standing on her own two feet. She shivered slightly and pulled her scarf tighter over her throat, and she appeared pleased to see her guest up and about.

"Well, I'm glad," she said, plainly. ”Seems you're finally on the mend. Sure took a while, but you're on your feet again, at last."

An awkward silence emerged. The young woman merely fidgeted in her spot.

"If you'll excuse me," the old woman went on, somewhat embarrassed, "I'm not used to seeing new people anymore, so I forget how to talk to strangers.”

She would not extend a hand, simply declared, ”My name is Yurna. And the ol' goon who rescued you is Benji, my husband. But he'll want you to call him Ben, because only I can call him Benji.”

She brought her face very close to the girl's, so that she could smell the tobacco on her breath. The young woman smiled nervously at the elder's odd behavior. She must not have associated with many people, she thought to herself, and developed strange habits over the years, perhaps having become oblivious to personal boundaries and did not understand why her manners put the girl ill at ease.

In her deliberation, her eyes drifted to the elder's scarf. Beneath it, odd dark markings on her neck caught her attention. She could not get a closer look before the elder clutched the fabric around her and wrapped it tighter to cover up. Instead, the girl peeked around the room, apparently wondering.

"Where did he go?" she croaked hoarsely at last, voice cracking and almost failing her.

"Out chopping firewood, I believe," Yurna said, then mumbled, more to herself, "Old scarecrow's at least doing _something_ around the house. Leaves sometimes for days! Out 'huntin''...ah, phooey!" She flailed her arm in a dismissive motion.

The girl made her way over to the small window slowly, and stood on her toes to peek outside, only to see a snow-covered landscape and nothing else. She must have been staring at it for a full minute.

"Where...am I?"

"The middle of nowhere, my dear," the elder stated nonchalantly. "Close to a hamlet called Icicle Inn. It's a half-hour walk in the snow. The only trace of civilization up here. All else is just one big white desert of snow and ice as far as the eye can see!"

Complete silence. The young woman stared at her without a sound. The name rang no bell; she recalled no instance of ever having trodden here.

Yurna was quick to identify the expression on her face as confusion. “We don't see many people around here, and we don't get any guests...not anymore...not since-”

Before she could finish, the front door downstairs flew up, and in came Benji stomping his snow-covered boots, hollering for his wife's assistance. He carried a rather heavy basket full of wood chunks for the furnace. The elderly couple took to the kitchen on the ground floor where Yurna had already begun preparing today's meal. The young woman followed suit, promptly collapsing in the nearest chair by the kitchen table and relaxed her legs. She even massaged them softly to relieve the aches somewhat. When the agony abated to some extent, she looked around herself, exploring these new surroundings.

This room was not much different from the one she had slept in, save for the very old-fashioned iron stove, some oak cabinet in one corner, and a round wooden table big enough for two people (three at most) in the middle of the kitchen, with two chairs next to it. The stove brought an agreeable heat to this room; she had been shuddering from time to time, even under her blankets, and this increase in temperature pleased her greatly.

The room itself was small and gloomy, with only one lamp hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the table, and one window to admit daylight. A wooden tobacco pipe lay discarded on the tabletop, and a small box of matches accompanied it. Its owner busied herself stirring the contents of a pot simmering on the stove. The couple's small radio vibrated with the latest news told by an urgent reporter.

” _...the cause of the outbreak is yet unknown, but is believed to be linked to Mako-energy, and has no known cure as of yet. The death toll-”_

The old man was quick to shut off the radio.

”What was _that_ about?” the girl wondered, eyeing the device anxiously.

”Just the same it's been for about a year now,” he replied, rather despondent. ”Nothin's changed.”

” _What_ hasn't changed?”

Her question caused both of her friends to stare straight at her wordlessly and exchange a glance.

”Young woman, have you been in a _coma_ this past year?” Yurna quipped and cocked an eyebrow at her. ”Or living in a cave, perhaps, hmm?”

But she would not yield. Their anxious glances, edgy manner, and Yurna's mockery only fuelled her worry and interest further; she pressed for an answer. Benji sighed, then sat himself in the other available chair across from her. His dark demeanor, the way he slumped over the table, told her that her question had plucked at a very sensitive string.

He adopted a serious tone, explaining, ”More than a year ago...people all over the world, mysteriously started falling ill, developing these...dark sores all over their bodies. They call it...'Geostigma'. Nobody knows what it is or what to do about it...and it came so fast, outta nowhere, and people have been dropping like flies. Some have it, while others in their proximity seem unscathed. No one knows what caused the spread. It mostly affected Edge...but even in Icicle Inn, people have passed. People we knew...”

”How _awful_...” she whispered, bringing a hand to her mouth in alarm.

He paused, voice rasping in his throat when he declared, ”And then...it got our grandson. He...he was going to be 10 this year...”

Benji stared ahead of him, deadpan, narrowing his dark eyes, musing. ”So, that's why...seeing someone new, well...I never thought we would.”

It was all becoming clear to her now; these two had stayed out here all on their own, and somehow tried to survive without the help of any outsider, ever since the mysterious epidemic had taken hold. Her heart was swollen with an odd blend of empathy, grief and joy; it pained her to hear their story of loss, and she was also glad that they were still alive, that they had made it despite the circumstances.

"Tell me,” the old man said, addressing the young woman at the other side of the table, while pouring himself a drink of tea. “When you were wandering around in the blizzard like that, without a map...where were you headed?"

There they were again; questions. Questions, but no answers. Where was she headed? She didn't know. But why didn't she know? Why couldn't she remember anything? Anything at all?

"Was Icicle Inn your destination?"

“Why weren't ye better dressed?” Yurna interjected suddenly.

She furrowed her brow and rummaged through her memories for an answer. But with all of them so murky, she kept coming up empty. The barrage of questions, however, would not cease. Where did she live? Did she have a family? Was there anybody at all that could be contacted about her whereabouts and well being?

In the end, she could merely avoid their prying eyes, shaking her head. She breathed, defeated, "I don't know."

The gentleman frowned at her unsatisfactory response. He suggested that she had to be experiencing some kind of temporary memory loss due to the cold.

She said nothing to this. It still took her much effort to put all of her weight on her two unsteady legs, let alone strain her brain to think hard about her past...or go anywhere.

"But at the very least, if you can tell us as much...please let us know your name," Benji said. He fixed his eyes on her with an almost probing gaze.

"Do you even _have_ one?” Yurna queried, somewhat cheekily, and Benji silenced her.

Surprised, she gawked at the couple in front of her, at a loss for words. Another moment went by before her eyes fell on the metallic bangles around her wrists in contemplation. She finally mustered enough courage to speak.

"I may not remember much," she declared in a raspy voice, gazing vacantly at the wooden table top, trying to avoid their eyes, "And I don't have any answers to your questions, but...my name..."

The kind gentleman still watched her and waited for her to proceed, while his wife's attention seemed more focused on the pot on the stove, occasionally stirring its contents. They remained quiet, and the man observed her with anticipation in his look.

At long last, she proclaimed, "My name...is Aerith."

She grinned, alleviated; even a small step like this was grand advancement for her. Well, at least she knew her name; it wasn't much, but it was at least something.

“Aerith...” the man echoed with a polite nod in acknowledgment.

Whether he intented to say anything else seemed unclear to her; he appeared lost in thought, and got up from his chair to assist his wife with something, reaching over her shoulder to grab a small jar. As soon as his hand brushed her shoulder, the latter promptly slapped it away, much to Benji's consternation. The vehemence of her reaction perturbed him; although she had been unusually ornery for the past month, he could not for the life of him understand what had gotten into her.

Aerith, not wanting any involvement in their personal problems, turned in her chair to look towards the misty window instead. It was still very bright there, outside the house; the sun had not yet begun to set. A bitter cold emanated from the windowpane, but the heat from the stove kept the interiors of this house a warm sanctuary from the eternal, harsh winter landscape outside.

She breathed on the frost-flowers and cleared a small space on the window, through which she could gaze outside and see the desolate landscape petrified under the harsh winter frost. She surveyed the environment: everything was covered in a thick blanket of fresh white snow, as far as her eyes could see. Tiny flakes fell with intervals from the heavens, which remained beclouded: a completely opaque milky white, one that the sun's warming rays could not penetrate. It seemed the Ice Queen Shiva herself resided here, keeping the land under her eternal spell.

“What is this place?”

Noting the girl's forlorn demeanor, Benji approached her by the window.

"We're located about three hours from the Forgotten Capital of the Ancients. And in this direction, well, there's the Great Glacier and Gaea's Cliff," he explained, pointing to the window. He, too, beheld the scenery. "But I rarely see anyone heading that way. Of course, except for tourists who used to come up here for a ski-trip. There's only frozen forests, knee-deep snow, and wild animals down there.”

"How long have you two lived here?" Aerith asked, apparently amazed that anyone could actually survive in a place like this.

"Far too long, if you ask me," Yurna said with her arms crossed, one hand firmly holding onto the wooden ladle, almost menacingly.

"Well, we were both born an' raised in Icicle, lived there almost all of our lives,” Benji admitted. ”It's a small winter resort; everyone knew everyone. But after what happened a year ago...with the outbreak, and Meteorfall and everything...visitors stopped comin', and we decided to just be here. Never been much for seein' the world anyway. Well, I used to ski, but that's ancient history now.”

”What...did you say?" Aerith asked, her green eyes suddenly wide open and staring expectantly at the man.

”I used to ski?”

”No! About...'meteorfall'?”

There was a pause, which caused even Yurna to spin around and regard her quite keenly.

”Wait a minute...” Benji said slowly, ”don't tell me...that you didn't _know_?”

”I don't...I mean...understand...” she mumbled to herself, almost inaudibly, ”...does it mean...what about...?”

”You're not making any sense,” he reminded her with a sympathetic look.

”Please tell me!” she implored, nearly springing out of her chair. ”I have to know!”

Benji and Yurna exchanged a glance; she could not tell whether it was one of annoyance or concern.

Another long moment of silence emerged, but Aerith's gaze lingered on the two, still waiting for an explanation. Half a minute must have passed, when the man decided to delve into recounting the events of the past year that had come to lead them here; about the meteor falling from the sky and laying waste to Midgar, about the Lifestream protecting their planet from being obliterated, about the people of former Midgar building a new city they had named Edge, and about Geostigma that had somehow manifested after the meteor fell.

Aerith narrowed her eyes somewhat, looking out through the window and said nothing. She stared vacantly at the snow outside, while groping for any concrete, discernible memory. Much to her dismay, nothing she conjured up was satisfactory, and she was left without an answer; she had no clues as to how she got here, or even where she'd been before that. All she had was a vague feeling that she had come here from Midgar - the largest city on the face of the Planet. The one that had been laid to waste. The 'why' and 'how', however, remained an enigma.

“ _I want to be forgiven more than anything...”_

That voice again. She had heard it somewhere before. In a dream? When she shut her eyes, lying in bed, sometimes she heard them. Voices. And this one haunted her especially. He sounded so pitiful.

In an attempt to clear the heavy air in the room, Benji announced that dinner was ready and they had better set the table and dig in before it went cold. Aerith nodded, grateful to drop the subject. Perhaps they could find lighter topics to discuss, she thought. Yurna carried the heavy pot of stew over to the table and set it there with a heavy sigh, and stopped short, apparently to catch her breath. Her husband eyed her cautiously. She drew quick breaths and slowly wiped her sweaty forehead on her sleeve.

“What's the matter?” Benji asked.

The words barely left his mouth when he witnessed his wife's eyes roll back. He had not anticipated what followed. Yurna's limp body crashed to the hard floor, hitting her head on the edge of the table before the impact. They both sprang out of their chairs in alarm, Aerith with a shriek, Benji rushing over to his wife, calling out her name several times and shaking her shoulders lightly. But the unconscious woman would not respond. He loosened her tightly-wound scarf and undid it entirely.

His hands froze in mid-air. Lips quivering, his breaths ragged, eyes wide open and watering, entire body trembling. He saw them, the markings on her throat. Dark blots of black and purple over her neck and beneath her collarbone. Of course, he knew exactly what this meant.

“No...” he whimpered miserably, pressing her flaccid hand to his forehead. “ _Yurna_...”

He could no longer speak; the words now caught in his throat, as he sobbed, inconsolable. Aerith saw them too, the sores on the elder's throat. Never had she experienced the likes of what she was looking at, but from the scene unfolding before her eyes, she understood what it all meant.

 

* * *

 

Three days passed by. Her memories remained muddled for the most part, but she pondered upon that one face, whose two blue eyes never waned. Those eyes haunted her day and night.

Whenever she fell asleep, she dreamt about the same strange place; a place where incandescent white trees surrounded her overhead, as she lay on her back, staring up at the heavens and the myriad of stars. And then, there he was again. A blond young man with a pair of remarkable blue eyes, appeared before her. He was always crying; always remorseful, _“I want to be forgiven”._

A chaotic jumble of noise would follow; unearthly, haunting voices she could not explain - and all of a sudden, she opened her eyes.

It had been three days since Yurna fainted, and since then, she had spent most of her time in bed, and Benji watched over her. The rash was worse than he had initially thought, stretching from her neck all the way throughout her body, down to her elbows and ankles.

He had joined Aerith in the living room, where she had been staying, and sat her down. She dreaded was he was about to say, and could not bring herself to look at him.

“My wife is dying.”

Of course, she realized this, and he could tell from her sad expression that she was struggling to say something, but failed to find the right words.

“It's really a matter of days now, or weeks, perhaps. But I don't want you to stick around to see it happen,” he concluded, plainly.

She looked up at him again, taken aback by his statement. “What?”

“I know a man in Icicle Inn, he has connections. He can help you get where you need to go,” he declared.

“I'm not leaving! You saved my life, and nursed me back to health! I would like to repay you, in any way that I can!” Aerith pleaded. “Let me help you!”

“There is nothing you could do, Aerith. We all know how it begins, and how it ends,” the despondent man lamented.

With that said, he proceeded to roll up his sleeve. Aerith's heart skipped a beat when he revealed his bare arm, exhibiting dark blots, similar to Yurna's. The young woman gasped softly, and stared at him in disbelief.

“How...how long have you known about this?”

“I've known for some time,” he said flatly, as though completely unmoved. “Before I found you that day.”

“But why didn't you say anything!?”

Benji fell silent for a moment, avoiding her eyes. He proclaimed, “I needed to stay strong...for Yurna. She's all I have left in the world. I thought that if I kept my mouth shut, then...perhaps...” Shaking his head, he sighed. “I don't know what I thought, I don't know.”

Aerith could only watch, refusing to believe what she saw. His hopeless demeanor, how he sat, head hung and hunched over. From that angle, his face was entirely obscured, and the light from the fireplace illuminated his back. Fear held her in its firm grip as well; knowing that they were running out of time, and she was but a spectator in this tragedy.

“Listen to me...Aerith,” he began, his low, grave tone demanding her undivided attention. He emphasized each word, “There is nothing for you here.”

Aerith wanted to protest, but he waved a hand to silence her and went on, uninterrupted. ”However we look at it, we're both running out of time. But _you,_  on the other hand...you're still young, and you're not...like us. You can still make a change in the world, for other people. But there's nothing you can do for us.”

She shook her head vigorously. ”No, no, I can't just leave! Not after everything...you saved my life!”

She would not let herself be convinced to leave! Regardless of the old man's arguments, she insisted to stay. It did not take him long to realize that she was a stubborn one, and would not capitulate. After an hour of discussion, she had worn him down; she had her mind made up, and regardless of his claims and reasons, she insisted that she was doing the right thing. He could but sigh and accept it. What good it would do, he had no idea.

 

* * *

 

Spring arrived to these snow fields. The frozen trees came alive after months of slumber. Small birds chirruped when they glided by overhead towards the pines, merrily hopping between branches. Children brought their sleds outside and played tag with their exuberant dogs.

Aerith made her way to a sectioned off sanctuary at the back of the village, surrounded by tall pines, and a low wooden fence. Numerous lanterns had been placed here in the snow by villagers. She was not alone to visit; others paid their respects as well. Several heaps in neat rows were marked with wooden crosses, and candles planted next to them. Each cross had a name carved into it. It was a small snowy cemetery.

The young woman stuck a lit incense in the snow, upon the final resting place of Benji and Yurna. She kneeled before their grave. Closing her eyes, she thought of them fondly, their words and actions never forgotten; the kindness they had given her, the time and care, and the warmth, were something Aerith would always carry with her, forever.

“Thank you,” she whispered, beholding their peaceful resting place one last time.

She rose and turned to leave. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds and warmed her face so wonderfully; she could tell, it would be a beautiful day.

Now back on her feet, strong enough to carry on by herself, and all on her own, she finally decided to take the old man's advice, and leave the village behind.

Maybe she would find people who used to be a part of her life, be it friend or foe; she wanted to know who she was, even if it meant to expose herself to potential threats; there was no other way.

She left Icicle Inn that day, and those snow fields, to traverse across the globe, back to the place she had once referred to as 'home', unaware of what waited there; unaware of what were to come. All she knew was that she had to start somewhere.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope that you enjoy the story so far, and feedback is always appreciated! Let me know in the comments, or you can message me on Tumblr (Rhoeysama). :)
> 
> P.S.: If you see any odd pauses or contractions where there shouldn't be any, I apologize; I recently switched over to a different word processor, and when I copy-paste the text, it messes up the formatting. I tried to correct anything that caught my eye, but I may have missed something. If you spot anything, please let me know. (The part with the voices in the beginning of the chapter was deliberately done so).


	3. Ghost From the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter unlike any other.

This particular winter night was rather chilly, when Cloud sped through the gloomy city on his trusty motorcycle, nearing tonight's final destination. The road ahead of him illuminated by street lights, and the beclouded sky promised rain and obscured a full moon.

It was hours past sunset, and Cloud could barely wait to finish this last mission; all he could think of was a nice, hot shower to soothe his aching, frozen muscles, a bite to eat, and a good night's rest; anything to forget all about today's events. Yet, he could not stop thinking about Vincent's cryptic words. His tone had bothered him, as though the man had been hiding something. Cloud's mood had deteriorated throughout the course of this hectic day, and riddles were the last thing he needed. However, asking would have been futile; knowing Vincent's nature, he would have simply hung up before he had the chance.

_"There is something you ought to investigate.”_

"What's he even on about? I'm just a delivery guy, not a detective,” Cloud muttered in irritation to the recollection of Vincent's words.

He sensed that it was going to be a long night, and perhaps trouble was brewing, if he was sending him empty-handed to an unknown address without so much as a hint of what to expect there.

“I better call Tifa and let her know I'll be late,” he mumbled to himself and dug a hand into his pocket to withdraw his phone, still driving full speed down the long dusty road.

The rather small screen on the device was completely blank. He pressed a button - no response. Once more, he pressed the power button and held it in longer, but still no reaction.

"Well, that's fantastic," he grumbled bitterly, shoving it back into his pocket.

When his eyes flicked to the street ahead of him again, his heart skipped a beat when a strange man appeared on the road. He pulled the breaks, sliding across the dirt with a screech, nearly hitting the pedestrian.

"What's the big idea, idiot!?” the man scolded severely. “Eyes on the damn road, pal! You could have killed somebody!"

Cloud pressed a hand to his forehead, mumbling an apology. His head swam, sight growing clouded. Inhaling deeply, he straightened himself out and had not noticed the same man who had berated him a moment earlier now standing next to him.

"Hey, is everything alright?"

Cloud winced at his unexpected presence, but managed a brief "yeah, I'm fine.”

The stranger eyed him for a moment, measuring up the situation. Realizing that the blond was most likely not under the influence or injured and simply shaken from the experience, he decided to move along.

Composing himself, Cloud looked around, and discerned the numbers on the surrounding buildings. He cast a glance at the crumpled piece of paper he had torn out of his notepad and saw that he had reached the address scribbled onto it.

Leaving his vehicle on the sidewalk of this empty street, he approached what he identified as a WRO soldier standing outside the entrance to one building. The uniform-clad man was quick to stop him.

"Sir, it's off limits," he admonished. ”Authorized personnel only.”

Showing the man a card with his picture and identification, Cloud declared simply, “Vincent Valentine sent me here.”

"Can you confirm that?"

He paused, realizing that he had no means to prove his claim; even his phone malfunctioned at a time like this. The blonde scratched the back of his head in hesitancy.

“I can't.”

"Well, in that case, I will have to ask you to leave, sir."

Cloud sighed. ”Look, I know that you're just doing your job, but it's been a long day, and I got a tip that there's something I should investigate? So, if I could just-”

”Everything is under control here, sir. Nothing to investigate. Now, move along.”

"Okay, but can I at least ask-"

"I'm not authorized to answer questions, sir. Either you leave, or-"

“Alright, I get it!” Cloud conceded at last, vexed and raised his hands, backing off.

What a pointless trip; a complete waste of time. Damn him, anyway! Sending him on a meaningless mission, a dead end. If it was so important, why didn't he investigate it himself? It wasn't like the former Turk didn't pop in and out as he pleased anyway; he seemed to know things about everything and everyone, so why did he need _him_ all of a sudden?

"Shouldn't have agreed to come here," he muttered, seething.

“Hey, you!” the guard exclaimed.

Cloud's head spun to face the man, who was staring straight at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving, okay?” the former retorted.

“You're not supposed to roam around unsupervised! It's dangerous! Get back inside immediately!”

Cloud raised an eyebrow in confusion; it took his brain a moment to register that the guard had been addressing somebody else.

“I just needed some fresh air,” replied a soft female voice from behind him.

It sounded familiar. Upon turning around, Cloud spotted a woman in a dark hooded coat heading towards the building. Blue eyes shifted to her face obscured by her cowl, where they froze in shock at the sight before him. Pulling off her head covering, she exposed her brown locks. It was then, that she looked at him. Strange to say, she froze in her spot like he had done, as though she recognized him.

Cloud's heart sank; the whole world stopped for him. Thunderstruck, he could merely gawk at the woman, fumbling in his mind for reason and logic. He found himself riveted to his spot, eyes wide in absolute stupefaction as he was now standing before her, mere feet of air separating them. The face belonged to a young woman: a face that he identified immediately; brilliant green eyes peered intently at the man before her. _Those_ green eyes.

"I-it can't be you! It CAN'T be! It's _impossible_!!" he cried in shock.

When he finally remembered to breathe, he felt something sliding down his cheek and he wiped it off: tears. He stared at his moist fingers, perturbed. He had been crying without realizing it. He reached out a shuddering hand toward her, only to stop midway in disbelief, clenching his fist. His entire body trembled violently - he refused to believe his treacherous eyes that were trying to deceive him!

It was too much for the poor man's heart to handle. He clutched his head with both of his hands, and his shoulders quivered. He could barely draw breath, grappling for an explanation.

“Miss? Is this man bothering you?” he could hear the guard ask.

But the woman was quick in assuring him that everything was under control, and she could handle the situation. The guard left them alone, but kept his eyes on them, observing them through the window.

"You're not real...it's just an illusion, a-a dream!” Cloud continued to mutter to himself, trying to rationalize the spectacle. “This isn't happening...I'm only dreaming!"

By the end, he slapped his own cheeks desperately, as though hoping to wake himself from this dream. The startled woman in front of him could not move from her spot. She wanted to reach out to him, but found herself incapable of doing so; she found nothing of value to say.

Everything around Cloud seemed to disintegrate into oblivion. In his mind, he wasn't in Edge anymore. He found himself back in the Forgotten Capital, running down a long, winding stairway of clear crystal, where he found Aerith kneeling at some altar, eyes closed, and hands clasped together in silent prayer. He ran toward her. He wanted to warn her of the imminent danger that threatened her.

Next thing he knew, all sound, all sensation faded and time stopped for Cloud. He held her immobile body in his arms and cried silent tears, but her eyes remained sealed. He had never felt so helpless as he did in that moment; he was losing someone dear to him, and there was not one damned thing he could do about it except watch! He hated himself, and he was…afraid. So afraid of Sephiroth and what he was capable of, but most of all, he was afraid of _himself_.

Back to the present, Cloud gazed at her, the woman still standing tall in front of him.

"Is...is it _r-really you_...?" he stammered, rambling on senselessly, "I...so many years passed, and... _h-how_ d-did you...?"

Nothing he said came out right. There was so much he wanted to tell her, all in one breath. He noticed how the woman stared at him anxiously, and did not seem to understand what he raved on about.

When he finally managed to calm down, he gathered his courage. He looked straight into her eyes.

"Aerith..." he forced out between gasps, “you're alive.” He repeated to himself, as though he doubted his own words, "You're... _alive_..."

Her heart raced at the mention of that name. She approached him at last, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder to confirm that, yes, she really was Aerith; yes, she was there for real, it wasn't just a dream or an illusion - at least, not to _him_.

His heart pounded within his chest; hammering so hard, its sound drowned out everything else around him, accompanied by a shrill ringing in his ears.

Images from the past flashed before his eyes. He saw a dear friend to him, impaled right in front of him, where he could see it all happening so clearly. He watched on in horror, completely motionless. Sephiroth's satisfied grin told it all when he raised his arms victoriously toward the heavens: he had removed the only obstacle hindering him from attaining his goal. This girl no longer posed a threat to him.

Aerith's eyes sealed lightly and her body sagged. Cloud rushed over to catch her as she fell straight into his arms, lifeless, like a mere rag-doll. He cried bitter tears while he hugged her, shaking like a leaf; this was not happening, it _could not_ be real! He stared at her face, hopelessly waiting for her eyes to open again. But Aerith wouldn't stir, and she didn't speak.

_What have I done?!_

_She's gone..._

_She will never be able to laugh, speak, cry...or get angry..._

More than five years had passed since that horrific day. He spent all of those years trying to forgive himself for having failed her. For not being able to protect her when she needed him the most. Five years went by, and he spent each of those five years picking up the broken pieces that were Cloud. With great agony and effort, he tried to re-build his sense of self again, and managed to lead a somewhat normal life, despite his ordeal and the millions of obstacles along the way. Somehow, he overcame them, and he grew stronger than ever before.

Even so, he still would not refrain from visiting the old ruins of the church, reminiscing about the days when a special part of his life still walked among them. It was here, that he had escaped the clutches of death, twice. It had all been because of her. Even in death, she was victorious, and ever present.

It was there, at that place, where he remembered her best; there, he'd woken up, to the sound of a soft voice calling him: his eyes opened, and in the strong light, he saw a face; a very beautiful face, at that. Where was he? What happened? The image of a smiling Aerith still lingered like a ghost in that place. And he had heard her voice...even seen her, on more than one occasion.

Now it boggled his mind all the more; had he imagined those incidents too? Were they dreams?

With the same sharp, high-pitched ringing in his ears, his mind struggled to return to the present, and slowly resurfaced again from the murky waters of his memories.

Cloud gazed at her searchingly, desperately demanding an answer, "H...how? _How_ is this real!?"

He had to know! But much to his despair, Aerith's eyes revealed nothing to him, and she did not reply, only beheld him now somewhat sadly.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about," she declared remorsefully.

"What…you mean...you don't remember!?" He blurted, incredulous.

"Sorry," she replied and shook her head, "None of what you're saying makes any sense to me…"

"But...it's _me: Cloud..._ "

"'Cloud'..." she echoed in a whisper, always evading his probing gaze. 

Her presence evoked a myriad of memories, sensations and emotions – things he only felt when she was around. He wanted to tell her of the many years of self-contempt and grief, because of what he let happen to her: to see her draw her last breath and die in his arms; to be taken away from him, while all he could do was watch...

Still, even to this day, he could not conjure up her face in his mind without a stabbing pang of pain and guilt attached to her memory.

_I want to be forgiven more than anything._

And now, after all of that, she stood before him somehow, with no rhyme or reason. Her two green eyes riveted on him alone, filled with concern, and other emotions he could not quite identify. He wanted to hold her, just hold her and cry; pour it all out for her and beg for her forgiveness. But somehow he could not; it all got caught up in his throat, and he found himself unable to tell her any of those things. Where would he even begin? How would he finish? He feared that all of this was a mere dream, and she was just another memory or that would evaporate were he to awaken.

Much to his great astonishment, before he could say anything at all, Aerith leaned closer, throwing her arms around him to engage him in a warm embrace. Her presence and his emotions combined overwhelmed him, and it grew too heavy for him to bear anymore. Cloud, too, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face against her neck.

All that he had kept bottled up for years suddenly burst forth in the shape of bitter tears. The man could no longer stop them from flowing, nor could he choke back the heart-wrenching sobs that escaped him involuntarily. He wept and wept, until he thought he would never stop.

"It's all right," Aerith comforted, "Everything is all right."

 _Everything is all right._ That's what she had said, back then, as well. When he thought he would die, but was cured instead. Had that only been a dream? A hallucination? He was certain that he had felt her presence back then.

At this moment, he could no longer concern himself with what was. Not when her voice sounded so wonderful to his ears; not when he touched her, and it was just the way he remembered it! The man hugged her even tighter. No, it was not an illusion; she was real, and she was here, where he could feel her heartbeat against his. He felt her warmth, and her scent, exactly how it used to be; it was no dream, it couldn't be.  
He tried to say something, but not a single word escaped him, only more sobs.

For Aerith, this was the first time in many years that she felt truly happy. Here he was, this man, the sole anchor to her past, to who she used to be; her sole anchor to _Aerith_ , whatever that meant. She could barely comprehend it; it was all so surreal, like none of this was truly happening: as though this scene belonged to another person, another lifetime, another world...

With one final squeeze of reassurance, Aerith released a reluctant Cloud, who still clung to her as to dear life. He feared that if he let go of her now, she might vanish again.

"It's really… _you_..." he stammered, searching for the right words, eyes still brimming with fresh tears. He wiped them off with his trembling palms.

“It's really me,” she echoed awkwardly with a weak smile.

_It's really me._

_What do you mean?_

Cloud composed himself by force in an attempt to regain control of his senses. An hour must have passed before the violent storm of emotions and shock abated somewhat. Questions were asked. Questions piled upon even more questions; how could she be alive? And why had she stayed away for so long? Where would she go now? What would she do with her life? Did she have anywhere to go at all? Or anyone to go home to? Bombarded with all of these questions, Aerith took a few steps back, overwhelmed by this heated interrogation, and she failed to produce any answers.

By that time, it had begun to rain. The gentle downpour left dark blots in the dust and on their clothes. The pitter-patter was the only sound to penetrate the wall of awkward silence between the two.

Cloud studied her from top to bottom. He wondered to himself, whether she had looked in a mirror at all. Her meager appearance certainly struck a sensitive chord within him; she had an ivory pallor, and appeared worn-out; there was something ascetic in her countenance.

In his mind, he debated what to do with her. The only sound option he found was to take her home. He would not let her continue to roam the streets all on her own, or stay in a run-down facility in such poor conditions either. No, she needed a real home, and someone who would look after her. Deep down, he wanted to be the one who took care of her, and make sure that nothing could harm her, if he so had to protect her with his life. He would not repeat the same mistake as five years earlier…

And then, his thoughts were with Tifa. How would she react to this? He couldn't begin to imagine, were she to see her long since deceased friend standing in front of her again, as she remembered her. Nevertheless, Cloud was determined: this was what he had to do.

"You have to come with me," he stated.

His impulsive decision and resolute voice rendered Aerith disconcerted.

"I can't," she protested.

"What do you mean 'you can't'?" he countered, staring at her in disbelief.

"They need me here. I can't just leave!" she reasoned. “There's children inside this building. Orphans. They have nowhere to call home.”

“Well...do _you_?” Cloud challenged.

“This is my home now,” she stated plainly.

"No. I won't let you stay here! Only last night, monsters attacked the city! There's no way I'm leaving here without you! What if something happens to you again?"

Aerith argued her case further: she had a home here, the children and the staff needed her, and she could not simply abandon them. Her contention was met with twice the resistance; this was one argument that Cloud was not willing to lose, and stood his ground firmly, with fierce determination.

The former still refused, and once she had had enough, she turned her back to him, ready to abandon the discussion; she would not tolerate this insolence; him coming here, popping out of the woodwork and demanding her to leave everything for him!

“I need you to leave,” she said.

Confounded, Cloud stared at her. “What?”

“Please...” she whispered, “Just go.”

He wanted to reach out to her once more, but the woman had turned her back to him; there was an aura of sadness about her. Cloud understood that he could plead, he could rationalize, but none of it would matter. In the end, she had to choose for herself, and if she chose... _this_...then it had to be.

But how could he let it?

"Don't you even _care_ to know...about what happened in the past? Do you really want to walk around in a fog, for the rest of your days? And spend all of those days in a run-down place like this?” he challenged. “Well...if that's what you want, then I can't stop you. I'll leave."

He turned around, and with a heavy heart, slowly headed back to where he had left his motorcycle. Then it dawned on him: the thought that he had, once again, made the wrong choice. What did it say about him now, that he could simply walk away after everything? The man exhaled, and counted to three. _No_ , he thought, _this didn't end here_. In a strange turn of events, before he was finished formulating a new plan, she called out to him.

“Wait!" she demanded, following him. "I said wait!”

Cloud halted and spun around to face her again. He realized that he had hit the mark somehow; Aerith regarded him now, when she approached him, demanding an explanation.

“If I go with you...what happens then?”

The young man looked at her for a moment before declaring, "I don't know for sure.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Listen...I don't know what happened to you...but I think that I can help you," he clarified, "and I know others who can too; people who are your friends...or used to be...once. So, you're not alone. But I can only help you if you come with me. There's just no other way to do this. I'm sorry."

A very long moment of silence followed. Cloud gazed at her beseechingly, but she merely returned his gaze with more sadness. She thought of the orphans. If she abandoned them, she would deprive them of a guardian, of someone they looked up to and revered. She'd wanted to be there for them, and in a way, this shelter had become the closest to a home she had had in years.

And now she had come to a fork in the road. She stood before such a momentous decision, thrust upon her out of nowhere. She would have to leave all she knew behind, and join this man who promised her her life back. Even though she pondered long and hard, while the light rain splashed against her face, she reached the same conclusion no matter how she looked at it.

"All right," she consented at last, though rather reluctantly. "I'll go.”

A surge of joy, excitement and fear shot through Cloud in reaction to her words.

”Just...give me some time to say good bye," she added ruefully.

“Of course.” Cloud nodded, and watched her return indoor.

He waited outside, for what seemed like hours, the sole guard inside the building watching him through the glass panel for the duration of his stay. A slight screech resounded when the door whined on its hinges, and Aerith emerged, carrying nothing more than a rather small backpack, in which he assumed that she kept her possessions. Cloud lingered another moment, lost in thought. He then excused himself, and scurried off to collect his motorcycle from where he'd left it.

Rather than prepare to take off, he turned his head away from her slightly, as though he tried to avoid her eyes. The latter watched him hem and haw for a while, apparently trying to tell her something else, with much difficulty.

"Before we go, there are some things you need to know first," he began, though unsure of how to continue. He tensed up, felt his heart once again pound harder in his chest, and his voice trembled somewhat as well. "I... _everyone_ thought you're…dead, and...well..."

Cloud looked up at her hesitantly, as though he waited for her permission to proceed. Aerith felt a strange foreboding feeling prick her heart. Nevertheless, she managed to smile despite her discomfort, and encouraged him to go on.

Silence stretched another moment, until Cloud began to recount the past five years of his life.

He spoke to her of both the past and the present, and his trials and tribulations over the past five years; about the horrible nightmares he had after having seen her stabbed, and the never-ending guilt that tormented him ceaselessly afterwards. Aerith listened to his story in complete silence, not once trying to interrupt him.

Cloud hung his head. "That's how it is. And...I've thought about you a lot," he confessed hoarsely, once again fighting a battle against his tears, his shoulders quivering while he did so, "A-and...I hated myself for..." he merely shook his head and stopped himself.

“I know...” she confessed softly, recalling the dream she had, where she had seen him cry. How many times had she seen that same dream. Now, she understood what it meant. “Somehow, a part of me...has always known.”

His gaze met her two warm green eyes in wonder. They radiated gentle kindness upon him. She smiled softly, and added, almost inaudibly, "But...I'm here now, aren't I?"

The young man felt greatly comforted by those words, but found nothing sensible to say in return. When all words failed him, he sighed in defeat. Aerith reached out a hand to caress his cheek affectionately, still retaining that kind smile. For the first time, a joyful smile spread across Cloud's lips as well when he beheld this woman, overwhelmed by his own emotions.

Aerith withdrew her hand from his face, and focused instead on the matters at hand. Cloud then helped her climb onto his bike and sit on its seat, though quite awkwardly; it was the first time she ever sat on a motorcycle (at least, from what she could recall). Cloud took his vehicle by the handlebars and with a turn of his key, started the engine.

"Hold on tight!" he ordered. His friend obeyed, and grabbed hold of his shirt with both hands. Thus, they took off.

By the time the two finally arrived at their destination, the entire neighborhood and the streets surrounding it had long since fallen silent, and nothing stirred. Street lights were their sole source of illumination in the dark street. All was still, except for the faint sound of some dog barking, and the occasional late night traffic. The house itself towered over them as nothing more than a black silhouette, and only one window was lit up. Cloud knew, of course, that Tifa was still awake, most likely waiting for him. Indeed, he'd been away from home for hours, and his phone having shut off, he imagined that she could not be happy at this moment. But tonight, that was the least of his concerns.

"This is it," he said, his tone very low, and he looked directly at Aerith. His heartbeat grew increasingly quicker; he knew what awaited.

Aerith regarded him seriously another minute, and climbed off the motorcycle carefully, grateful to be on steady ground once more.

Cloud glanced back at her one last time, before he pushed the key in the lock, turned it, then pulled the front door open. The instant he set foot inside the house, a very concerned Tifa greeted him, and looked none too amused. She carried a round tray packed with a set of clean wine glasses, all glistening like crystals. It almost went flying out of her hands as she nearly jumped on him in her agitation.

"Cloud! I've been worried sick about you! It's almost three A.M.!" she chided, "What happened?? Where have you—"

Her sentence ended in a sharp gasp. In her great shock, she lost balance. Tray in hand tipped; all the glasses she saved mere seconds ago now struck the floor in a loud crash, shattering into hundreds of shards. The woman found herself rendered completely breathless; she stood face to face with a ghost from the past, staring straight back at her! Her breaths grew shorter and quicker, and her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all sound.

"Tifa..." Cloud reached out his hand, in a futile effort to calm her, but much to his dismay, found nothing sensible to say. She did not seem to notice him.

"H-how...what?? What is she...w-what's going on!?" the woman stammered, looking between Cloud and Aerith, too perplexed to produce a coherent sentence. In her confused mind, she was searching desperately for an explanation to what she saw: she was merely hallucinating, about to lose her mind. Telling from Cloud's behavior, however, she could see that the image before her was not merely some mirage; it was not just her mind playing tricks on her.

Tifa finally managed to compose herself enough to approach the girl before her. Carefully, she reached out a trembling hand to her face.

"How is this... _Aerith_? Is that... _really you_??!"

She jerked back her hand instinctively when her fingertips made contact with the girl's skin; she was real, indeed! Struggling in vain to choke back her tears, Tifa was unable to contain herself anymore; she leaned in to embrace her friend passionately.

"A miracle! _This_ is a...”

Aerith patted her back affectionately; the latter wiped her own wet cheeks with her free hand.

"I can't believe this is real! Oh...Aerith!"

She clasped Aerith's face between her two hands, and smiled while the tears continued to well up in her two brown eyes. Aerith said nothing; instead, she smiled back at her amiably.

When Tifa finally let go of her and took a step back, and studied her top to bottom. It suddenly occurred to her how frail and sickly her friend appeared. Exhaustion had left its marks on her pasty pale face in the shape of dark rings beneath her eyes. All of her garments were sullied and torn.

"Ah, but look at you...you look terrible! We need to do something!" she cried, beside herself with worry. Upon turning to Cloud, she stomped her foot impatiently, "Cloud! What are you still standing around for!? Go make the guestroom ready!"

"Of course," Cloud acknowledged with a nod, and turned his back to the two of them, disappearing out of sight as he ascended a flight of stairs to the first floor. Once he was gone, Tifa turned to Aerith once again.

"What about those?" Aerith asked, pointing to the shards of glass lying around in a miserable heap on the floor.

"I'll take care of it later," Tifa dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. "First thing's first: let's get you all cleaned up and find you some dry clothes, and we'll go from there."


End file.
